Wrong number
I am by nature a prankster. However, I am a very careful one. So much so that I don’t really do any pranks. A prank-theorist if you will. However if a prank comes my way I will try to seize it. This always goes wrong though..

Anyway, I got a call a few months ago on my mobile. A Range Rover dealership in Sheffield. They thought that I was taking delivery of a new Range Rover. My normal polite instincts kicked in. I said that they have the wrong number, but I would love a new Range Rover Ha Ha Ha. They apologised, and I think nothing of it. A few days later, they asked me if I liked my new Range Rover and would I do a customer satisfaction survey over the phone. Ha Ha Ha, I splutter, no, you have still got the wrong number – I am not the person you sold a Range Rover too. They apologised. End of story.

Except the same thing happens a few days later. I told them they have the wrong number somewhat forcefully. They seemed to have got the message. A few days later they called again. They apparently hadn’t got the message. I tell them again. A month later, I got a call saying that as my Range Rover has been recalled, they will deliver a temporary one to me whilst mine is fixed, and that they are terribly sorry that they couldn’t get one to me for the same day, but they didn’t have any manuals, only automatics, and they like to offer like for like.

At this point I was incensed. Temporarily insane with rage. I told them to deliver the temporary car to my workplace. I hang up. Stupid idiots. Then I realise that I have effectively stolen a car. FUCKFUCKFUCK. I called back, but couldn’t get the person I spoke to. I left a message. Fuck.

Then the reception for the building I work in delivers a message over the intercom. “Will Mr. XXXX (dude they sold a car too) please come to reception.”

I shat myself. I glanced out of the window and there was a brand new spanking white Ranger Rover Vogue parked in a visitors spot.

My mobile rang. I freeze. My anus puckered so much that it picked up my chair with it. I stood up and my chair came with me.

“Who the fuck are you and where’s my car?” said the dude who had the broken Range Rover and was expecting a temporary vehicle. I put on a terrible, terrible Liverpudlian accent “What are you talking about, I don’t know nothing about nothing...etc”

“Why are you trying to steal my car?”

I toyed with the idea of telling the truth.

In a slidingly shit Birmingham accent now... “I don’t know what you are talking about, like...”

He hung up in disgust.

I glanced out of the window. The Range Rover is gone. Presumably reception have told the delivery dude that they now have checked the visitors/staff list and no one of that name is in the building.

I never answer my phone from people I don’t know. Ever.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 23:43, 2 replies)

Clicks for
My anus puckered so much that it picked up my chair with it.
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 31 Jul 2009, 0:30, closed)

Yay!
Recognition for my anus!
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 31 Jul 2009, 0:39, closed)